


Herbal

by wednesday



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Extra Treat, M/M, ToT: Monster Mash, Trick or Treat: Trick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-25 16:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12536580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesday/pseuds/wednesday
Summary: One moment he’s contemplating how best to deal with the local noblemen and if it’s worth the trouble to resort to blackmail, the next he’s being shoved face-first against a tree, the clear edge of a blade insistent against his side, one sharp move separating it from sliding between his ribs.





	Herbal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Filigranka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/gifts).



He’s not even doing anything that would normally take up much of his attention when it happens, just walking back to the town after a particularly frustrating bit of information gathering. One moment he’s contemplating how best to deal with the local noblemen and if it’s worth the trouble to resort to blackmail, the next he’s being shoved face-first against a tree, the clear edge of a blade insistent against his side, one sharp move separating it from sliding between his ribs.

Vernon takes a deep breath, exhales slowly and tries to relax every single muscle in his body.

“I do hope you weren’t trying to be subtle or not get recognized,” he says. “You smell like a herbalist’s store room.” He _itches_ to say something else, something more cutting, but he also has no wish to get stabbed in the lung anytime soon.

“Really now, we’re in the woods, Roche. There’s flowers everywhere. Are you sure you didn’t recognize me because this position’s gotten so familiar?” Iorveth asks in a mocking whisper, breath hot against the side of Roche’s neck. He presses closer for emphasis, front against Vernon’s back, one thigh sliding forward between Vernon’s.

“It’s winter,” Vernon hisses, unconsciously matching the quiet tones of Iorveth’s voice and immediately getting more angry when he notices. “No one can blend in smelling like a fucking meadow in the winter.”

“Ah, well, I guess you were trying for the d’hoine usual – just gotten out of a Novigrad sewer? Surprisingly, you didn’t succeed at that. Though,” Iorveth muses, voice even lower, “it might have suited you better today.”

A moment later Vernon feels Iorveth’s lips press against his jaw, not really a kiss, but definitely too much and too startling, and he tries to jerk away, but gets nowhere, because his other cheek is already pushed against the cold rough bark of the tree.

“ _Don’t. Move_ ,” says Iorveth, and Vernon can feel the words slide against his skin. He grits his teeth and then tenses up even more when Iorveth slides his free hand around Vernon’s waist, palm an unsettling weight low on his chest, right next to the blade of the dagger.

He does comply and stay still and surprisingly so does Iorveth, their slightly uneven breaths the only thing moving in their close embrace. The stillness makes it uncomfortably intimate, wrong in a completely new way.

It takes him longer than it probably should to notice the other thing – there’s a heavy shuffling sound coming from the way he’s facing, which is the way he was just minutes ago walking. Another minute and he can see a troll-like creature moving through the trees, grunting and wheezing, dragging a fallen tree behind itself.

Iorveth’s arm tightens around Vernon very slightly when the creature turns their way, but apparently they’re far enough to stay unnoticed. It takes a while for the hulking creature to wander off and the sound of breaking branches to fade. Vernon only starts to relax when it’s been quiet for a minute or two.

“I do hope _that_ wasn’t who you were planning to meet here, wandering the woods at night,” Iorveth whispers, still closer than Vernon ever lets anyone be. Iorveth’s voice is mocking again, and mockingly concerned, and Vernon wants to fight him so badly he can taste it, but here and now he grits his teeth some more and waits.

The quiet lasts until with a last lingering slide of his lips across Vernon’s jaw Iorveth pulls back, and the cold air against his back shocks him like ice-water. The blade against his side remains the last point of contact between them for a moment that stretches out like indecision, and then the it's withdrawn as well. Iorveth lets out a short harsh laugh and by the time Vernon turns around, hand on the hilt of his sword, he’s already gone.

 

 


End file.
